Real Ghost Stories Online is a website that does a show via podcast available on iTunes. According to the site, the show is a combination of interviews, verbally submitted ghost stories and written ghost stories sent to us by listeners all over the world.

It’s very professionally done and really a great listen. The website is filled with great features too. I recommend it.

Tonight’s podcast is available on iTunes and will be also available below – don’t miss it. Medium begins at 16:55 in the podcast.

My Dad told me this creepy story several times when I was growing up. His childhood wasn’t so great and so he liked to escape at weekends or whenever he could. His best friend, Jack, and he, loved to cycle, camp and hike around East Yorkshire and that’s what they did just anytime they could. It was the years directly after the war and there was little traffic or other people to bother them.

One night, they pitched their small two-man tent in a farmer’s field near Long Marston. They knew very well that, in the vicinity, many years ago, a battle had taken place there during the English Civil war – The battle of Marston Moor. It was partly why they were there as they both had a love of history as well as the outdoors.

They retired as dusk came as they were heading back in the morning and needed to get up early to allow sufficient time for the trip. Cycling all day is tiring and so they had no problems sleeping.

Around 1am, a hand shaking his shoulder woke my Dad up. It was pitch black. As he awoke he heard Jack’s voice,

“Nev, Nev, do you hear that?”

Dad listened and to his amazement he could hear the thudding of horses galloping, men shouting and screaming and the clash of steel on steel. This was taking place in a thunderstorm and was accompanied by the sound of rain, thunder and huge flashes of lightening. He was horrified.

The two of them sat in the dark listening to what he described as a cacophony of battle sounds all around their little tent in the field. They dare not move. They dare not look outside the tent. They simply sat there wide-eyed with cold sweat dribbling down their icy cold necks listening to the sounds of a Civil War battle in a thunderstorm going on around them.

As soon as dawn began to break, the sounds faded. They got up, skipped breakfast, and got out of there as soon as they could. The field was totally empty when they finally summed up the courage to leave the tent.

The experience obviously had a big impact on him because he would often tell my brothers and I the tale of the night the Battle of Marston Moor took place. I think what had shocked him more was that, when checking up on the battle years later, he discovered that it did actually take place in a thunderstorm.

If you enjoyed this, why not buy one of the My Haunted Life series? Or, if you would like to write a review of one of these books on Amazon, I will gift you the book (provided you agree to sign up to my mailing list and promise to write the review!). You can buy one of these Amazon supernatural hits below;

So the 5-day give away has now ended and I am delighted to say that 226 people downloaded the book which, for me, is a new record for a give away on Kindle. I would like to thank them for trying my work and to ask if they would kindly consider writing a review?

I am hopeful that many of these people will now purchase My Haunted Life or My Haunted Life 3 as well.

Right now, I am still hard at work on My Haunted Life 3 stories. I already have some really great stories written based on a meeting with my brother’s brother-in-law at a christmas party. He was a font of great paranormal and strange stories, many of which I have included in the book but also, some of them triggered memories of other similar stories as well.

Later, my intention is to bundle all three together as a new paperback of short stories.

Meanwhile, all three books can be purchased on Kindle at any Amazon site.

There was a time growing up when I became quite fascinated by spiritualism. The idea that a person could communicate with the dead—actually see and hear ghosts—was of great interest to me. This was an interest that my mother was actually willing to share with me, and so we ended up taking a couple of trips to a spiritualist church in Hull, England. These sessions were always characterized as demonstrations of clairvoyance, rather than speaking with the dead; but that is exactly what these people did.

On our second trip, my dad decided to stay at home, muttering something about it ‘only encouraging weird activity,’ but he was always interested in what had happened at the meetings, of course. He was, I believe, quite right. It did encourage the strange, ghostly activity that was going on in our house at that time, and it also made me more open to strange phenomena.

Attending a spiritualist church as a teenage boy was interesting in and of itself. The first thing I noticed was that the vast majority of my fellow visitors were female and well over the age of fifty. However, by contrast, the mediums were often younger people. That evening, it was quite a full audience for the demonstration as the medium was highly regarded, and he apparently attracted a more diverse audience. He was two or three readings into the evening when his eyes met mine.

“Young man,” he said.

I gulped and likely flushed, as all eyes suddenly stared at me.

“I have a man here with me in spirit who would like to warn you about that motorbike that you have. He is showing me that you will have an accident, so be careful. He is young, this man, and he is wearing motorcycle gear. He passed some time ago, though,” said the medium.

To be honest, I could barely speak. I just nodded acknowledgement, and the medium duly moved on to his next ‘victim.’

Of course, I was consumed with my own thoughts for the rest of the demonstration. We thought that the young man could have been my dad’s brother who had died long before I was born in a motorcycle accident; and yes, I had just recently bought a second-hand Honda C70 motorbike.

At the end of the meeting, both the medium and the organizer approached my mother and me. The organizer knew us and lived in the same area that we did. It transpired that the medium wanted to spend some time with me. He said that he had some things he wanted to tell me, and so, could I come by the next day around 2 p.m. for some tea?

We went home and told my dad what had occurred. He was understandably a little upset at the idea of his brother coming through, but he agreed that I should go for the tea and see what the medium had to say.

The next day was actually very disappointing at the time. I had fostered this idea that somehow the medium would tell me something really important, meaningful and deep. In fact, we simply sat in the backyard drinking tea and eating cakes, just chit chatting for about an hour or so. After that, the organizer suggested I should leave so as not to tire the medium, who would be giving another session later that day.

As I was about to leave, however, the medium looked at me and said, “Do you write at all, Gary?”

“Not much. Why?

“Well, I just wanted to say that you will one day write a lot.”

“Okay, thank you,” I replied.

“One more thing, Gary.”

“Yes?”

“Be open.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, somewhat puzzled.

“Be open to spirit. They will write through you. Don’t be afraid. It will feel quite natural. It may not happen for many years yet, but it will, and I think that you might just sit from time to time with a pen in hand and a bit of paper and see if it happens.”

“Thank you,” I said again, feeling a bitter sense of disappointment. Was that all?

Apparently, the medium put on an uncharacteristically poor showing later that evening. He was tired from meeting with me, he had claimed. I didn’t understand why that should be so, nor really why he wanted to meet with me. At the time, I didn’t believe that he had told me anything very much of value at all.

About six months later, I visited the University of Hull. They had an open day for prospective students. I was seventeen and looking forward to going to university, so I went. Driving back home on my motorbike, as I accelerated away from some traffic lights, I suddenly saw a blur jump out in front of me. I braked as hard as I could, but I hit whatever it was. I heard the yelp of agony as I did so, and then I found myself sliding along the street at about 30 mph, until the handlebar hit a pothole and threw me away, gashing a hole in my knee as I went. The bike was messed up, I was okay (although bruised and bleeding), and the poor dog was dead. I felt bad. I felt terribly guilty for killing a dog. I also felt very fortunate that the light had turned red behind me, and I wasn’t run over by a car.

I remembered the medium then—what he had said in the message—and I understood that this was a sign.

Now, I do indeed write. I write a lot. And the spirits? Well, they do come through. As the boy in the movie said, I see dead people.

A friend of mine once told me this story on a Halloween many years ago. It chilled me to the bone. Whether it is true or not, I am not sure, although he swore on his mother’s grave that it was.

In the late 1970s, the central cemetery in west Hull was a real eyesore. It was overrun with trees, bushes and weeds, and it was used as a place for all sorts of illicit activities. Most people gave it a very wide berth indeed. Many of the graves in the cemetery are Victorian, and they are grandiose monstrosities of a bygone era. It is a pretty damned creepy place in fact. These days, the whole area has been cleaned up, tidied and is actually worthy of a visit. However, back then, it was a place to be avoided if at all possible.

My friend was walking home, somewhat tipsy, from the pub with a couple of other friends that night in the late 1970s. They thought it might be scary fun to take a trip through the cemetery. Who wouldn’t? They decided to walk across it, and while picking their way between overgrown and fallen tombstones, heavy undergrowth and trees, to their horror, they came to an area where many of the graves had been tampered with. Whether for theft or some other macabre reason, in this area in the middle of the cemetery lay scattered bones and open graves with coffins and contents partially exposed. Horrified, the three friends began to hurry, totally creeped out by the place and what they saw there.

This is where it gets interesting, however, because at this point, my friend accidentally kicked something as he moved as swiftly as possible through this darkened field of bones. To his utter horror, he realized that it was a human skull as he watched it rolling away into the undergrowth.

He told me that in a moment of pure madness, he decided to take it with him. Gingerly picking up the skull, he ran with his two friends to the nearest way out of the creepy cemetery. Having escaped from the cemetery, he stuffed the trophy skull in his bag, and they all went home.

When he arrived home, he took out the skull and examined it. It grinned back at him and was in good condition. He was actually quite proud of his fearlessness and, with some satisfaction, he placed the skull on his bedside table for further inspection and cleaning the next morning before he passed out to sleep.

Awakening the next morning, instead of the skull that he and his friends had collected the night before, he was shocked to find a large, carved ivory chess piece sitting on the table. The chess piece was carved in the form a man. This freaked him out no end. Where was the skull? Where had this come from? He later confirmed with his mates that he had taken a skull from the cemetery, but that skull was now a large ivory chess piece. The chess piece was even scarier to him than the skull. It seemed to have a dark presence around it and, after a couple of days, he and his friends returned it to where they had found it—during daylight. They left it back in the cemetery where they felt that it belonged.

Did the chess piece turn back into a skull, we wonder? Or did he simply imagine that it was a skull initially? We will never know.

This short true story appears in My Haunted Life Too – available for pre-order now and released on Kindle on 17th December. You may also like the first volume – My Haunted Life – Out now.

True Tales of Ghosts, Evil, Strange Creatures and Things That Go Bump in the Night…

• Have you ever felt as if you were being watched? • Have you ever experienced something you simply could not explain? • Have you ever been terrorized by an entity? • Have you ever lived in a haunted house?

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About me

G. Michael Vasey is a Yorkshire man and rabid Tigers fan that has spent most of his adult life lost deep in Texas and more lately, in the Czech Republic. While lucky enough to write for a living as a leading analyst in the commodity trading and risk management industry, he surreptitiously writes strange poems and equally strange books and stories on the topics of metaphysics, the occult and the paranormal on the side, hoping that one-day, someone might actually buy them.
After growing up experiencing ghosts, poltergeist and other strange and scary experiences, he developed an interest in magic and the esoteric. These days he fancies himself as a bit of a mystic and a magician to boot. Most of his inspiration for his scribbling comes from either meditation or occasionally, very loud heavy metal music.
He has appeared on radio shows such as Everyday Connection and X Radio with Rob McConnell to tell strange and scary stories. He has also been featured in Chat - Its Fate magazine and interviewed by Ghost Village and Novel Ideas amongst others.
He blogs addictively at garymvasey.com and he tweets micro thoughts at @gmvasey. He also reviews a lot of very weird books at strangebookreviews.com.